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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903751">Mistletoe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspollifax/pseuds/mrspollifax'>mrspollifax</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>advent calendar 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Christmas, Emotional support boyfriends, Family, Ficlet, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:02:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspollifax/pseuds/mrspollifax</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s taken us a lot of work to get this far.</i> A tiny bit of Christmas with Baz's family.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>advent calendar 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mistletoe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Advent Calendar Day 5: Mistletoe</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I don’t think Christmas will ever be my best day. Not anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For starters, the lodge in Oxford really isn’t any less intimidating than the house in Hampshire. In fact, it’s a bit more so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz’s stepmother is trying so hard, but I’ll never know how to act. His father doesn’t seem to know how to act either, wavering between false joviality and a stern, suspicious gaze that makes me feel like I’ll never be anything other than the Mage’s Heir. And the children are older, and noisier, and they seem to be everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d never tell Baz, but I really miss Agatha’s mum and dad sometimes. This is a lot, is all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least his family’s not full of huggers. I’m not sure what I’d do if they were. I don’t really want to be touched right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today had started out well enough. We’d woken up early at the flat in London. Baz had grumbled and moaned his way through breakfast and gifts with Penny, because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so early, Snow, must you smile at me/chew with your mouth open/breathe so much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz doesn’t like mornings any more than he did at Watford. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Penny had left to see her parents, and Baz and I had got in the car to visit his family. And I’d been fine then, holding his hand and ruffling his hair and leaning into him in the cold morning air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m fine more days than I’m not. I never completely sure it will last, though. Today’s been one of those days when it didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hadn’t really known what to say in the car, and I wondered what I’d say when we got to the lodge, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I needed to apologize again for sucking all of the magic out of Baz’s ancestral family home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz started throwing me sidelong glances once I started chewing on my fingernails. He tapped the tips of his own fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, and the sound had felt like little needle pricks on my neck. So I turned to look out the window instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The drive to Oxford is always too long to hang on to a good day, and never long enough to fix a bad one. We arrive too soon, and I mumble things I don’t remember, and then we’re all filing into the sitting room to wait for Christmas dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz puts me in the corner of the sofa and settles himself at my side. No one else is going to sit next to me, but he’s not close, exactly. Definitely not touching me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m relieved. And I’m a bit ashamed. But mostly I’m really, really grateful. Grateful for the space, grateful that he can see my mood without me having to talk about it, and grateful that I’ve come far enough to realize he’s trying to help, not wishing he could escape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s taken us a lot of work to get this far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look around the room. The twins are actually sitting still for once, sharing a single armchair as they turn the pages of a book Baz gave them for Christmas. His younger brother is on the floor by the fire, banging on a toy xylophone. And Mordelia --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-- Mordelia is leaning over the sofa from behind, holding something in her hand over our heads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m afraid to look, but Baz does, and somehow his face gets even greyer than usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shove off,” Baz snaps at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smirks -- he deserves it, I think, since she clearly learned to make that face from him -- and then purses her lips and makes exaggerated smacking sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I am suddenly very, very sure what she’s holding. I glance over at Mr. Grimm, who’s got one eyebrow raised, and Mrs. Grimm, whose face is very still. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then I look at Baz, and he seems kind of terrified. He’s kissed me in front of his parents before, so I’m not sure what’s wrong now. But then he faces me and my slow brain catches up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand slides closer to me on the cushion, like he wants to cover my own hand with it but won’t. He turns back to his sister and says, “Not now, Mordelia,” low but sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s just trying to keep me safe, I realize. As usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that, I feel okay again. I don’t know why, or how, and it drives me mad that I can’t predict it or make myself better on my own. But none of that matters right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I lift my hand and lay it on top of Baz’s, twining our fingers together. “It’s fine,” I say, and I lean in and kiss him on the lips, short but sweet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When I pull back, his face is soft, the corners of his mouth tugging up into something that on someone who wasn’t Baz I might call a smile. I laugh a little, and he purses his lips and shakes it off, turning back to his sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <span>“That plant’s a parasite, you know,” he says. “It’s no wonder you have an affinity for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mordelia sticks out her tongue, and Baz sneers, and I squeeze his hand in mine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s a good day after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can find me on the tumblrs at <a href="http://tulipsandtesseracts.tumblr.com">tulipsandtesseracts</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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